


Bestow Unto Him, the Saint

by tansybells



Series: Flayn Week 2020 [3]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: And I Love That For Her, Birthday Presents, Father-Daughter Relationship, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Spoilers, Flayn Cannot Cook, Flayn Week (Fire Emblem), Gen, Spoilers for Flayn's Paralogue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:40:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25226941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tansybells/pseuds/tansybells
Summary: After several failures, Flayn presents what remains of her gift to Seteth for his birthday. She hopes for the best, but steels herself for the worst. In the end, tears are shed and promises are tentatively made.Day Three: Birthday
Relationships: Flayn & Seteth (Fire Emblem)
Series: Flayn Week 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1824445
Comments: 8
Kudos: 25





	Bestow Unto Him, the Saint

Smoke billowed out into the common area as Flayn stumbled out of the kitchen. After she coughed in an attempt to clear her lungs of smoke, she looked down to the scorched tray clutched tight in her oven mitt-clad hands and frowned. The sweet buns that she had spent so long laboring over were nothing more than vaguely round lumps of charcoal at that point, and she was no longer sure if the tears running down her cheeks were from disappointment at her failure, or from the sting of smoke in her eyes.

How had things gone so desperately wrong?

She had only tried to encourage the flames in the oven with the simplest wind spell she knew! How was she to know that the flames would be so hungry so as to entirely devour the treat she had been making?

Flayn squinted at the horizon, saw that the sun had passed its zenith in the sky and was but an hour or two away from being fully replaced by the moon, and felt her heart sink. There was not enough time in the day for her to try her hand at making the sweet buns once again; she had already failed the two days before in her attempts, and it was time to pay the price for her repeated failures. With the still-hot tray in her hands, she resignedly marched up the stairs to the second-floor room her father had claimed as his office. Somehow, the idea of presenting him with her failure sounded just a modicum more appealing than trying to face him on this day empty-handed.

“Brother,” she said, not waiting to see if there were any students present before nudging the door to his office open with her foot. “Brother, I must apologize.”

“Flayn?” There was a scuffle, a sudden readjustment of papers as Seteth rose from his chair and came to meet her just inside the door. “Flayn, what is wrong? Are you injured?”

“No, no, not at all!” With a weak laugh and an apologetic smile, Flayn held up the uncovered tray of irredeemable treats. The bitter, acrid scent of burnt flour and savory spices made her wrinkle her nose. “I merely… wished to celebrate your birthday with you, that is all.”

Seteth was decidedly silent. Flayn shuffled her feet about anxiously. She knew that she had made a mess, a mess that would likely take ages to clean and would only add to the depth of her father’s already furrowed brow, but still a part of her yearned for his approval somehow.

“I… I actually tried several times to make this for you,” she said, her voice choked thick with tears, “but this is the only one that was not entirely incinerated. I know it is not edible, but—” She broke off the end of her sentence prematurely as she pushed further into the room and set the tray down upon his desk. Her hands finally free, Flayn wiped her face with the cleanest part of the soot-stained apron that covered her skirt. “I just wished for you to know that I did not forget your birthday, and that I truly did try my best to make something you might enjoy.”

Seteth still said nothing, merely clicked his tongue once as his sharp gaze took in the still-smoking tray that she had presented him with. Flayn, her stomach twisting up into several ill-conceived knots, let her own eyes fall to the ground.

Mentally, she berated herself endlessly. She had been foolish, had taken the advice of several well-meaning students in stride and  _ still  _ royally messed up, and she had been so self-centered to think that her father would wish to hear tales of her failure upon this, his  _ birthday.  _ She should have known that it would be impossible to recreate the feeling of familial love that had once surrounded him upon his birthday a millennium ago, when it had not only been the two of them—but  _ three.  _ Who knew! If not for her, and her mother’s desperate attempt to save her, perhaps by now there would have been even more family to bestow love upon him.

Without warning, Seteth spoke. His knee came into view as he knelt before her. Flayn’s lower lip trembled.

“Flayn.” Seteth’s voice was low, quiet. All Flayn could think of was how a crocodile might lay in wait for prey, lurking just below the water’s surface. “Flayn, look at me.”

Flayn shook her head without lifting her eyes from the ground, merely set her jaw in preparation for the verbal lashing that was sure to come. Yet to her surprise, her relief, none came her way.

Instead, a firm yet gentle hand alighted upon her head and mussed her intricate curls.

“I do not know what god I pleased,” her father said, “to have been blessed with such a kind and considerate presence in my life.”

“In these days, where the day of my birth is so often overlooked in favor of the life I once led, it warms my heart to know that there is someone here who appreciates me as I am now.” His gaze flickered back to the charred mess that Flayn had presented to him just a few moments ago. Teary-eyed as she was, Flayn giggled as her father tried—and only partially succeeded—to not grimace at the sight.

She could not blame him. She could only imagine what her failed attempt at a treat must look like to him—for it did not look like anything resembling sweet buns, that was for certain. And considering that he was among the many who avoided the dining hall when she was in charge of cooking, it must have been torturous for him to remain in the same room with her creation. Silently, she sent a prayer of apology to the kind-hearted students who had tried so desperately to assist her. She would have to thank them somehow. However, she did not think they would appreciate receiving any sort of baked goods.

“Since my gift was not completed as planned,” Flayn began cautiously, ever aware of the way her father lifted a suspicious brow, “perhaps we could go into town tonight! Just you and I! We could dine at a restaurant, and look at the market, oh, and we can—”

Seteth chuckled and held up a hand, which effectively stopped Flayn in the midst of her building excitement. “You know very well why we cannot do that,” he gently chastised her. “It is far too dangerous for you to leave the safety of Garreg Mach.”

“Even in your company?”

“Even in my company.”

He doubtlessly noticed how Flayn’s face fell at the rejection of her idea, however, for he smiled and took her slender hands up in his rough ones.

“That does not mean that we cannot spend this evening with one another,” he said. “I can think of no better way to celebrate my birthday than to fish for our dinner, cook it, and eat it together. Just as we did so very long ago.”

“So long ago…” Flayn echoed. Her father smiled and squeezed her hands.

“What say you?” he asked. “Will you celebrate St. Cichol’s day with me, and grant unto the saint himself the greatest gift on the face of the earth?”

Flayn broke into a smile most resplendent. Throwing herself forward, she wrapped her arms around Seteth’s neck in the greatest of embraces and kissed his cheek fondly.

“Of course!” she sang, joyously. “I shall put on my best livery, as shall you, and we shall meet at the lake with our fishing poles post-haste!”

“And it shall be the greatest celebration that the world has ever seen. Even if you and I are the only ones to see it.”

“How do you mean?” Flayn asked as she let her father free from her embrace and started the path back to their shared quarters.

“I mean, Flayn,” Seteth said as he matched her pace, “that you are my very world, and I shall forever appreciate every effort you put forth. It does not matter if you succeed every time; I am content with only knowing that you are trying. It is proof that you are not allowing your limitations to define you, and I am forever proud of you.”

With a smile so great that her cheeks soon began to hurt, Flayn slipped her hand into Seteth’s. Hearing that her father was endlessly proud of her was one of the greatest things she had been told in ages. While it was something that she knew, deep down in her heart, the confirmation was continuously appreciated.

“Perhaps we should make plans to do this again next year!” she exclaimed, putting a little skip into her step. Seteth merely laughed low, quiet, and squeezed her hand.

“We shall see.”

“Either way,” Flayn said, “I wish you the happiest of birthdays, Brother! And a most joyous day of St. Cichol!”

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't realize this day was set to align with _Flayn's_ birthday until about...halfway through, and I didn't want to start over! So here we go, it's St. Cichol's Day and Flayn just wanted to do something nice for her dad. 
> 
> My continuous thanks to [Lily](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blooming_Spiderlily/pseuds/Blooming_Spiderlily) for her beta work! If you want some more of that good good Flayn content, be sure to check out [the official Flayn Week twitter](https://twitter.com/flaynweek) for some absolutely _marvelous_ art and fics. 
> 
> Have a wonderful day! See you tomorrow for the next prompt! ❤︎

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Bestow Unto Him, the Saint [Podfic]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25382566) by [quoththegayven](https://archiveofourown.org/users/quoththegayven/pseuds/quoththegayven)




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